Bride for a Night
“Merde.” Jacques shook his head. “It was a risk to reveal my destination, but they had promised to continue our rather profitable arrangement.”
Gabriel growled low in his throat at the man’s casual words. The profitable arrangement had no doubt cost the lives of dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of British soldiers over the past year.
“I assure you that your arrangement is at an end,” he snapped.
The mocking amusement returned to Jacques’s face. “True, but thankfully they were not my only associates and I do have Talia to offer me comfort.” His smile widened. “And speaking of your beautiful wife, I truly should ensure that she has not been unduly disturbed by your unwelcome arrival. Bonsoir, Ashcombe.”
Gabriel rushed forward just as the door was slammed in his face. With a curse he pounded his fist against the thick wood.
“Touch her and I will kill you, you bastard.”
CHAPTER NINE
IT SEEMED AN ETERNITY had passed before Talia heard the sound of approaching footsteps, although she knew it had been less than an hour since André had returned her to her luxurious chambers and firmly locked the door.
Anxiously pacing from one end of the room to the other, Talia came to an abrupt halt as the key was turned in the lock, and the door was pressed open.
“Jacques,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her quivering stomach as the Frenchman strolled to the center of the carpet with his usual grace. “What have you done to my…” As always she stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Gabriel?” she instead muttered.
A hint of satisfaction touched Jacques’s handsome features.
“You cannot even bear to claim him as your husband, can you, ma petite?”
Her chin tilted. She was tired, frustrated and terrified that Gabriel might be seriously harmed or worse, all because of his impetuous urge to rescue her.
“Do not presume that you comprehend my feelings for Gabriel,” she warned. “The truth is that I do not understand them myself.”
“He does not deserve your loyalty.”
Talia’s lips twisted. Jacques did have a point.
Gabriel had hardly been a doting husband. Not even when he had arrived to heroically sweep her back to England.
But the mere thought of the irksome fiend being hurt was enough to make her stomach heave and her heart ache.
“That is for me to decide.”
Jacques shook his head ruefully. “So forgiving.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You are avoiding my question.”
“His lordship is comfortably settled in the cellars.” Jacques looked as if he had just bitten into a lemon. “For now at least.”
“What do you intend to do with him?”
With a restless motion Jacques moved toward the mantel to arrange the delicate porcelain figurines.
“I will admit I am greatly tempted to tie him to the nearest tree and use him as target practice for my soldiers.”
“Dear God…no.”
He turned back to meet her horrified gaze. “Fortunately for your husband, I am not a self-indulgent aristocrat who thinks of nothing beyond his own pleasure.”
“What do you mean?”
Jacques shrugged. “The Earl of Ashcombe is an arrogant cretin, but I do not doubt his mother will be willing to offer a tidy sum of money for his return. I intend to send a demand for his ransom tonight.”
Talia bit her lower lip, torn between relief that Gabriel was to be spared and dismay at the thought of his mother being subjected to the terrifying ordeal of knowing her son was being held captive by French spies.